


flightless bird

by sarahyyy



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Established Relationship, Hiking, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, but look i left it vague okay?, you can spin this whichever way you want
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-27
Updated: 2014-06-27
Packaged: 2018-02-06 10:57:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1855510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahyyy/pseuds/sarahyyy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Combeferre grins. “How long did you wait before you called me?”</p><p>There is a short pause. “Two minutes?” Grantaire says, and Combeferre can’t help but to huff out a laugh. “He <i>said</i> three hours!” Grantaire says defensively. </p><p>“He’s fine,” Combeferre says, shaking his head in amusement. “He’ll call. He always calls.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	flightless bird

**Author's Note:**

> There's some Leverage reference in this, because I cried like a baby when I watched that episode.

“There’s something wrong. Enjolras hasn’t contacted me yet,” Grantaire says the moment Combeferre picks up the phone. “He should’ve been back by now. He said three hours.”

Combeferre smiles at the worry he hears in Grantaire’s voice. Before Grantaire and Enjolras started dating, he was the one pacing around his apartment whenever Enjolras goes on one of his de-stressing mountain hikes and misses his check-in phone call. “It isn’t an exact thing,” he assures Grantaire. “Sometimes he gets a bit caught up because he’s having fun, sometimes it’s a bad hike and he’s resting it off before he calls because he doesn’t want us to worry. Give it about half an hour to an hour more, he’ll call.”

He hears Grantaire let out a sigh of relief. “Okay,” he says. “That’s good to know. That’s something Enjolras should’ve really told me.”

Combeferre grins. “How long did you wait before you called me?”

There is a short pause. “Two minutes?” Grantaire says, and Combeferre can’t help but to huff out a laugh. “He _said_ three hours!” Grantaire says defensively. 

“He’s fine,” Combeferre says, shaking his head in amusement. “He’ll call. He always call.”

—

Inspect the damage. 

Alright, he has to inspect the damage and figure out how to best fix it. He’s good at fixing things, he can fix this. 

His head hurts, but he’s clearheaded enough that he’s relatively certain he doesn’t have a concussion. He feels around his head; scrapes from the fall, nothing extreme. That’s good. 

He pats himself down as best as he can without aggravating the pain in his leg. He checks his phone for a signal, knowing before he even tries that it’s a weak shot at best. He’s too high up and in too remote a place to get a signal. 

There’s no sign of his beacon. He turns on his torch, shines it on the ground around him; it’s not anywhere visible. It could be trapped under the rubble when he fell, or he could have lost it topside before or during the fall. That’s less than ideal. It means he’s going to have to get himself out of this. He’d wandered off the trail; no-one will know to look for him this far off track. 

He shines his torch down at his leg. His leg is bent at an unnatural angle, he’s bleeding; he’s broken his leg, it hurts like the devil. He pulls himself up to a standing position, ignoring the burning pain in his leg, putting most of his weight on his good leg and leaning against the stone wall of the cave. He angles the torch upwards and around. He’s at least thirty feet down.

There’s no way he can make a thirty feet climb on a broken leg.

He slides down against the wall, closes his eyes, and starts to think.

—

“‘Ferre, he still hasn’t called,” Grantaire says when Combeferre opens the door. He looks frazzled, hair a complete mess, eyes wild. He smells like smoke, and Combeferre wonders how many cigarettes Grantaire went through while waiting for Enjolras to call. “It’s been a lot more than three hours. It’s been close to _five_ hours. I tried calling him, but I can’t get through, he probably doesn’t have any signal. I tried calling base camp, and they say that he hasn’t activated his transmitter yet, so he’s probably fine, probably decided to rough it up in the mountains and camp the night, but _there’s something wrong_.” He grips Combeferre’s shoulders tightly. “You _know_ Enjolras. You know he wouldn’t change his plans like that. If he says he’s coming down, it means he’s coming down.”

Combeferre frowns. “He’s never done this before,” he says, and there’s a tingling sensation at the back of spine and a weird churning in his stomach. It takes a moment for him to realise that he’s feeling _dread_. “There’s something wrong,” he agrees, and watches Grantaire’s face pale. He’d probably come here to hear Combeferre tell him that he’s overthinking things, that Enjolras spontaneously decides to stay up in the mountain all the time. 

Combeferre herds Grantaire over to his couch, sits him down, and goes to pick up his own phone. 

—

Nobody is looking for him.

He’s made this hike enough times to be familiar with it, hasn’t needed a guide in a really long time. It was probably a bad idea to not tell the people in the base camp that he was only going to do a quick hike up and return at the end of the day; his cabin is paid for the night, but they’ll think that he decided to camp here, and no-one would find it suspicious until at least tomorrow morning, and even then, he’s off the trail, _far_ off the trail, nobody would find him.

He’s going to freeze down here, but the cold is at least keeping his blood flow slow, stopping him from bleeding out too fast, but it’s a stall, it isn’t a fix.

He’s going to die.

—

He calls Enjolras’ base camp; they say that they only have one voluntary search and rescue team, made up of three local climbers, and they can go up looking, but it’ll take time to cover so much ground, and there’s a storm coming up, which means it’ll slow them down even more, and the worst thing is that they don’t even know which way Enjolras went, since, you know, he hasn’t activated his beacon. It’s a polite way of saying _sorry, but we probably shouldn’t do anything until we know for sure that something is wrong_ , and it makes Combeferre want to scream, because if something is really wrong with Enjolras, they can’t waste any time. 

He goes on the web, searches for paid professional search and rescue teams, and hires one. 

He calls Feuilly to ask for a ride because Feuilly is the only person he knows who can remain calm in situations like these. 

Grantaire doesn’t speak the entire time, just stares down at his clenched fists. 

Combeferre pretends not to notice that Grantaire is shaking, because Grantaire is giving him the same courtesy.

—

He’s cold, he’s in pain, and he’s starting to feel a little lightheaded, probably from the blood loss. Now would probably be a good time to come up with a plan to get himself out of here, but he’s tired and he knows a hopeless situation when he sees one. 

He’s going to die down here alone. Maybe, if he’s lucky, they’ll find his body. He isn’t sure if the hole he fell from is large enough to be visible on a chopper. He hopes they find his body. 

Combeferre would be so mad. All his friends would be so mad, actually, but Combeferre? Combeferre would be _furious_. When he checks in with Combeferre after a hike, Combeferre would always ask if he derailed from the track, and he would always tell the truth, because he doesn’t lie to Combeferre, and Combeferre would always yell at him. He always promises to never do it again, but Combeferre knows they are shell-promises, so Enjolras never feels too bad about not keeping them. He’s always been _fine_ , he always makes it home safe.

He isn’t fine now. 

He isn’t going to make it home safe. 

He isn’t going to make it home to Grantaire. 

The pain in his chest at the thought of that distracts him from the pain in his leg. 

“Your body always focuses on the more severe pain,” Joly had said once, and Enjolras understands it completely right now because _fuck_ , he isn’t going to make it home to Grantaire, he isn’t ever going to hold Grantaire’s hand, or kiss him on the nose, or tell him that he loves him again, and the thought terrifies him. 

He is going to die here, and Grantaire is going to be devastated. 

He feels a new wave of panic rise up inside him. He needs to fix this, he needs to get out of here, he needs to go back home to Grantaire, but he’s out of options, he can’t do anything right now, there isn’t a way out, because if there was, he would’ve thought of it already, and thinking harder isn’t going to pave a way out for him. 

—

“I’m coming with,” Grantaire says to person in charge of their hired rescue team. 

Combeferre goes immediately to his side. “Grantaire, you shouldn’t-”

“I’m an experienced hiker,” Grantaire tells the man, ignoring Combeferre, “I can hold my own. I can be of use. I won’t slow you down.”

The man takes a long look at Grantaire, and he must decide that nothing he says will stop Grantaire anyway, because he just gives Grantaire a sharp nod and says, “We leave in five.”

“Grantaire-” Combeferre starts, knowing that he needs to talk Grantaire out of this, because Grantaire wouldn’t be looking out for himself out there. His focus is entirely on finding Enjolras, and even if he has to do that at his own expense, Grantaire isn’t going to hesitate. “There is a storm out there and-”

“I wanted to come with him,” Grantaire says quietly, interrupting him. “I know he takes his hiking trips alone, but I wanted to come with him, and maybe I should’ve pushed harder, should’ve whined my way into making him agree. _I wanted to come with him_. And I should’ve.” 

“It’s not your fault,” Combeferre says gently, putting a hand on Grantaire’s shoulder, squeezing tightly. “None of this is your fault.”

“I know,” Grantaire says. “But it feels an awful lot like it is.” He runs his hand over his face, brushes off his tears. “I’m going out there to find him, ‘Ferre. Don’t stop me, please.”

Combeferre knows when to pick his battles, and when to retreat. 

He nods.

—

“My name is Enjolras. I fell thirty feet down into a cave while hiking, I’m alone, injured, and I don’t think- I don’t think I’m making it down,” he says to the camera on his phone, voice a little shaky. He isn’t sure if it’s because he’s scared or because he’s cold. “Grantaire? R, if you get this-” He breaks off, and clenches his hands into fists to stop himself from shaking. “Everybody who goes up a mountain rehearses this speech in their head, and I just- I’m sorry.” The sob that wrenches its way out from him is completely involuntary. “I know I promised that I would come back home safe to you, but I don’t think I can, R, and I’m sorry, I am _so sorry_.”

“You’re going to be upset,” he continues, tears flowing freely now. “You’re going to be furious with me, and you’re going to cry, and hate me, but I love you, god, I love the hell out of you, and I always have.” He pauses, takes a deep breath. “I always will love the hell out of you, but I want you to move on from this, okay? I want you to be happy. Promise me you’re going to be happy, R, you can’t be unhappy, I won’t have you being unhappy.” 

“I love you, R,” he says, ends the video, and then closes his eyes.

—

When the rescue team returns, Combeferre takes one look at Grantaire and just _knows_.

**Author's Note:**

> I AM SORRY I AM AWFUL.
> 
> I am [here on tumblr](http://sarah-yyy.tumblr.com/), come say hi!


End file.
